


Hope

by UglyWettieWrites



Category: Alec Hardy - Fandom, Broadchurch, DI Alec Hardy - Fandom
Genre: Alec's just full of surprises, Angst with a Happy Ending, Erotica, Explicit Sex, F/M, Hardy gets what he deserves, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Sex with a broken heart, UglyWettieWrites, less talk more sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Alec’s breaking to pieces with loneliness, and he finds the courage asks the new woman in town for company.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is based shamelessly on that scene in S01E05 where he asks Becca Fisher, the local hotel owner, to stay with him. I have changed the character from Becca to a whole new woman, a deliberate decision, since I feel she doesn’t deserve Alec anyway. On with the show…

She picked at a hangnail and thought of the things she had to do.

1)Wash dishes

2)Put of a load of laundry in the washer

3)Answer emails from concerned friends and family

4) Try not to cry myself to sleep again…

It was silly. She had come to Broadchurch for peace and quiet, an idyllic setting in which to start over after Sean’s death, but just as it had been everywhere else, she brought the storm with her.

A boy had been murdered and left on the beach just three weeks after she’d arrived.

Three weeks, and the idyll ended cruelly for a beautiful family.. Sorrow on sorrow – it was too much to bear. Her and Becca had connected immediately, and since the usual waitress/assistant was now mourning her brother, she had graciously agreed to fill in.

A shadow passed the doorway. He nodded at her and climbed the stairs one at a time, slowly. She looked after him, mystified. He too brought the storm with him. DI Alec Hardy. His intensity made the hairs on her arms stand on end the rare times he came to the bar for some fizzy water, or to ask to have a sandwich sent to his room. At first it unnerved her, but ever since seeing him lying in a pool of blood a few days ago after someone told her about a bump in the room above, her mind had changed. He was scared, that she saw quickly. Considering no one had come to the hospital except his partner – not the ex-wife or the girl whose photo was in his wallet – he was lonely too. It came off him in waves, along with the burnt sugar scent of sorrow that clung to him because of his job.

She was lonely. She had gone there to be left alone to mourn, but she realized quickly that even if she went to Timbuktu, she still carried the gnawing pain of loss that felt like she’d swallowed too much air.

Her eyes burned. She swallowed a sob as Becca approached.

“How you doing, darling? Just about done?”

“Yeah. It’s been a slow night.” She finished wiping a highball glass and put her heels back on.

“Thanks again for doing me this favor. Means the world.” Becca squeezed her hand.

“It’s no problem. Gets my mind off things.”

“Right. Oh, remember to ask Hardy whether he’s okay with the journalists. They’re gasping for the rooms, and I need the business.”

“Of course. I’ll do it right now.”

“Don’t trouble yourself to find me after– just text me yes or no, and I’ll make the calls.”

“Great.”

Becca gave her a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Get some rest.”

* * *

She had barely knocked two times before he opened the door. He was still dressed in shirt and tie.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Um, I saw you come in a bit ago. I know it’s late but can I ask you quick question?”

“Of course. Come in.” He stepped aside. Although he had been there for weeks, it looked unlived in – no photos, food packages, or clothes strewn around.

He looked her up and down. It wasn’t a lecherous look, but hungry nonetheless. She felt her body for the first time in a year. Tiny beads of sweat formed over her top lip.

“It’s a bit of heavy request – a lot of journalists have been inquiring about renting a room here and I know you wouldn’t want to bump into them in the hallway, but-”

“What are you asking me?” He loosened his tie and put his hands in his pockets.

“Becca’d like to know whether you’d be comfortable with her renting out the rooms to them – she said she’d charge the police department half your current rate if you are okay with it. No pressure, of course.”

“You like my company that much?” His attempt at levity felt alien to her.

“Even in my brief time here, we’ve definitely had worse guests,” she said.

“Must be bloody hard to deal with all this,” he said.

“You have no idea,” she said too passionately. She wasn’t only referring to the hotel. Her whole life was in shambles.

He took a step toward her. “How do you relax?”

“I have my ways.” Mostly, drinking until she was numb. At least, lately.

He gave her a rare smile. It completely changed his face, and for a second, she saw beauty. She wanted to ask him how he felt, but he didn’t look like he’d take it well and she couldn’t bear the thought of him being brusque with her. They looked at each other for a bit. He had something to say, so she waited patiently. Her dress hugged her slim waist, tightening with each breath. Her hair tickled her shoulder blades. She felt the red lipstick on her lips, the weight of the wax and pigment. She could smell her own fading perfume.

Why was she feeling this now?

“Would you…” His gaze searched somewhere over her head for the words.

She smiled.

A giggle bubbled out of her, a nervous reaction. “Oh God no.”

She had not had sex since since her husband. 

“Good. Sorry. Don’t worry about it.” His face reddened and he walked to the corner of the room. Regardless, he couldn’t have been more mortified than her. She still couldn’t believe he’d asked, after everything. Did she look the part of a comfort woman?

Maybe it was her red lips, or her high slingback heels. On the other hand, she could’ve worn her flats up. And not put on any lipstick before knocking on his door, but she did.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t, or that you’re…it’s just…I’d be worried.” Her own healthy heart beat in her ears.

“Worried?”

She couldn’t believe he insisted.

“That you’d, um, collapse on me.” There was a pink healing cut in his hairline from when she’d found him. She’d seen the pills, and his frighteningly pale face. But it was not pale now. His eyes gleamed.

And he was not convinced. “Right. Thanks.” He nodded and twisted his mouth.

There wasn’t enough air in the room. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Really.” She tipped out the door and leaned against the hallway wall until her heartbeat slowed.

To think of it! After all this time, sleeping with a sick and lonely DI in a hotel room like a common hooker, but without the pay. She went downstairs and poured herself a glass of wine. 

 _Sick and lonely._  

She took a sip and looked out the windows at the deserted high street. She would go home, peel off her dress, and take a bath. Maybe touch herself – it had taken seven months before she’d been able to come without bursting into tears.

After sitting with him at the hospital, she had surprised herself by thinking of him while doing it. He looked terrible – gray and frail, but there was something about him. She saw the man he had once been and put away for a reason she couldn’t fathom, despite her talent for reading people. His body was weak, but his resolve was carved out of bare wood. He was strong, and it attracted her. Maybe it was contagious.

She texted Becca and picked up her bag. She had never ever been the hookup type, something that she had resented about herself when she was at university. While her roommates got laid, she’d be sitting at the dorm reading Jane Austen and dreaming of her Mr. Darcy, lovely and awkward and completely devoted to her. The girls had called her a prude only in semi-jest, but she couldn’t help it. She refused to let a man she didn’t care for deeply put his cock in her.

He was upstairs, most probably writhing with embarrassment. He’d blushed. It was delicious.

_Home. Booze. Tears._

She saw her bedroom, disconcertingly messy with clothes and paperbacks and the odd empty teacup. Her clean flowered sheets, the feather duvet that was comfortingly heavy on her lonely limbs. Her drawer of mostly unused sex toys, relics of a past she refused to get rid of just yet.

She looked at her reflection in a nearby mirror, squinting despite her contacts. Her face was a blur surrounding her sharply painted lips. She grabbed a napkin and wiped vigorously. Without the red, her dark eyeshine was now visible. She was feverish. She put her hands on her ribcage, took a deep breath. The dress hugged, but not enough. He wanted to hug her, touch her. Fuck her.

Looking back, that was the smile he’d given her. It was hope.

 _She_ was hope, if only just for a night. She traced her finger around the rim of the wine glass. It wasn’t the worst thing, to comfort and perhaps be comforted. Maybe he wouldn’t be selfish and spread her legs and finish on top of her before she was properly wet. If anything, he couldn’t. He was too sick to fuck like a bunny.

She giggled again. Here she was, thinking about a man fucking her like a bunny. She wondered whether she’d feel anything. Whether it would be as awkward as he usually was. Whether she’d bolt again before it began.

Becca texted her twice.

**Okay. I’ll make those calls.**

**Be good to yourself, love. Night. xo**

_Be good to myself._ When she’d been in the ambulance, she’d lied to the EMT and said she was his wife. It wasn’t difficult to look worried – she _had_ been worried. It was horrible to see a man like that unconscious, with his head lolling back and forth inertly with every turn. She had touched him, just to stop the lolling, but the touch had turned to a caress, then a kiss on his still bloody forehead. Shortly after he had opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Tess?” It was a cracked whisper.

“No. Maryn.” She’d put her hand on his scruffy cheek.

“Maryn,” he’d said, and his eyes had rolled closed. Gladly the EMT hadn’t heard.

That kiss had knocked something loose inside her.  She’d held his hand for the rest of the ride, even bowing her head to kiss his knuckles. It had felt so good to give love to someone who desperately needed it.

Both of them were cracked vessels that were still, somehow, spilling over. The thought of going home to her empty flat made her shiver. But would he even open the door to her now?

* * *

She pulled out her ponytail and her hair spilled around her face. She knocked. Again, he opened before she could knock more than three times.

“May I come in?”

He stepped aside. “Listen, I’m sorry if I was improper earlier.”

She walked to the center of the room and dropped her bag. The lights felt too bright.

“Bold, yes. Improper, no.”

He eyed her naked lips, her tousled hair. His body reacted to it before his mind caught up. He touched her, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Does the offer still stand?” Now _she_ couldn’t look him straight in the eye. Her muscles were taut. He tipped her face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were kind, of all things. “I didn’t laugh at you. It’s a nervous thing I do. I’m just not the hook up-”

He cut her off with a kiss. He let the heat of his lips penetrate her senses for a second, just sensation and shared breath, until she responded. And she did. Her kisses grew desperate quick, and her hands turned to grasping fists on his shirt. He broke it to catch his breath. He stared down at his shirt and gently pulled her hands off and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her face again with both hands, thumbs tracing her cheekbones. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, eager for more kisses. She felt his soft breath on her skin. He kissed her cheeks, little butterfly kisses going up her cheekbone toward her temple. She pulled him close until she felt his hipbones pressing into her belly. There was heat and heaviness between them and the sensation shot right to her brain. He kissed up her other cheekbone.

“Alec?”

He pressed his lips on her forehead. “Yes?”

“Kiss me again, like before. Like you mean it.”

His hands moved down her body to her waist and squeezed until she gasped.

“I do.” This time he didn’t wait. He nearly lifted her off her feet with his passion. His tongue slid into her mouth and she reciprocated, only to have him suck on it eagerly enough to make her moan. He moved them toward the armchair by the window, and sat and pulled her down on top of him. His mouth tasted beautiful, like cherry candy. It occurred to her whether maybe she was tasting his medication. She stopped kissing him to look. His eyes were still closed, his lips kiss-swollen and parted.

No, that wasn’t medication. Pills are bitter. He is sweet.

He pulled her close, eyes still closed. She ran her knuckles against his unkempt scruff. She knew it was a symbol of his sorrow, that he was in mourning. What was her symbol, or was she lucky enough to be able to wear her pain invisibly? She kissed him like he had kissed her, tender little pecks along his freckled cheekbones. His rushing pulse worried her, but not enough to stop. Not yet. She buried her fingers in his thick hair and tugged, tipping his face up. He gave a little hiccup-sigh and the slightest smile played on his lips.  

She stood up to unzip her dress and stepped out of it. His hands traveled from her calves, past her thighs to tug at her underwear. His breath was hot on her belly.

“Could I?” He looked between her thighs. Her panties were red like her dress and her lips had been. He cupped her and squeezed. She felt the weight of her desire at the same time he did. Her swollen lips seeped into his palm. He looked in pain.

“Are you okay?” She touched his wrist.

“Oh yes,” he said, and pulled down her underwear. He stared at her, from her face to her bra to the slick nakedness between her legs. He pulled her close, hands on her ass, and kissed her mound. She thought it would be a peck but it was a lingering kiss, tongue swirling, that moved down toward her slit. His prickly chin pressed against her clit and she gasped. 

The heat of his tongue made goose pimples rise on her whole body. Has a man’s mouth always been that hot? His hand moved up the inside of her thigh to her pussy and in a heartbeat two fingers slid inside her to the third knuckle. Tongue and thumb met at her clit and she cried out loud enough to make her worry about the room next door.

But it was empty.

She put her foot up on the chair and he began to move his fingers in and out of her while his thumb made little circles on her clit. His face was just an inch away, looking. He licked his lips and she felt the heat of his tongue. His fingers curled and unfurled, caressing her insides with almost virginal fascination. Her need came upon her all at once.

“Fuck me.” She said it between her teeth, a tense whisper. “Now. Please.” She knew he was ready, his pants tented promisingly between his legs. He looked up at her, then spread her with his lips and sucked her swollen clit into his mouth. He sucked and swirled his tongue maddeningly slow, cruelly slow, and moaned roughly into her. Three fingers moved with the same rhythm, trolling deep inside her. Sweat made her belly slick against his forehead. She didn’t know if it was his or hers. She could smell herself, musk mixed with his copious cherry saliva. He angled his face up to look at her. His cheeks hollowed from sucking but his eyes were almost peaceful despite her trembling, moaning excitement. She tugged at his hair and began to grind into his mouth. His eyes remained on her, half closed with his own private pleasure at the feel and taste. His tongue moved down to her opening where his fingers moved and licked up her wetness, as much as he could, and swallowed before starting his suck and swirl again.  

She let out a whimper. He was drinking her in, literally. His other hand parted her cheeks. He wet his fingers with her and slid one into her ass. She groaned and bucked into his face, and he slid it in all the way. She was filled. She ached but it was like the salt on the caramel that enhances the flavor. He licked her up, the tip of his tongue muscling its way into her despite his probing fingers. It was too much.

“God damnit!” she cried, losing strength in her knees. He pulled her onto his lap and pulled down her bra, making one of the straps snap. He held her by it, his fist tugging on the now useless elastic around her ribcage and sucking on her nipple, tongue dancing lightly on the hypersensitive bud but sucking _hard_. She wet his rumpled dress pants as she ground on him, but when she tried to unbutton his shirt, he stopped and pulled her hand away.

They panted together, but he wouldn’t look at her. He loosened his tie and pulled it off, but he couldn’t find the courage to keep going. She caressed him. His beard was wet with her, his cheeks above a beautiful rose. She slid her thumb into his mouth and then licked it. Pure cerise deliciousness.

“I want to see you. Let me see you.” She caressed up his sides. 

The shelf of his ribs sharpened with every breath. His sickness had weakened him, and no one had seen his body since Tess. No one but the doctors, and they clucked their tongues louder and louder each time they made him put on those assless gowns and weighed him. He didn’t want her to cluck her tongue too, look at him with pity instead of desire. He started to soften underneath her.

“Oh no no _no,_ darling.” She slid off his lap and onto her knees and unbuckled his belt. “We’ll take it a step at a time.” He put his hand on hers, stilling her. Her lower lip quivered. Although she had thought twice about this, now the thought of him thinking twice made her want to weep.

“Please. Let me touch you the way you did me. At least that.” She massaged up his thighs and rubbed the wet spot on his pants. He hardened again. He let go of her wrist and sat back, watching. She unzipped and pulled down his underwear and he popped out, slick and ready. Her mouth flooded with saliva. She had missed this.

She stroked him, cooing at the way his skin slid so smoothly along his length. She kissed the head of his cock, wetting her lips with his precum, then looked at him while she licked it off. He inhaled sharply. She pressed her tongue into his peeslit then started to swirl her tongue outward until he was in her mouth and she wrapped her lips around him and sucked, slowly, still swirling, until his cock shone with her saliva.

“Jaysus!” He put his hand on her head. Tess had not done that. Ever. At least, not to him. He was spinning out. She took him into her mouth until the head of his cock stretched her soft palate. Her throat closed around him as she twitched against her gag reflex and he curled in on himself and groaned. She moaned into him and bobbed her head, tongue undulating on the underside of his cock. He could feel the back of her throat, soft, hot and wet and his balls tightened in warning. He pulled her off him. A thread of crystal spittle went from the tip of his cock to her lips. Her hand was flat on his slim belly, underneath his shirt. It crawled past the sharp shelf of his ribs and to his sternum, right above his heart.

“Fuck me.” She said it softly. He pulled her up and she straddled him. His fingers went inside her again, moving quick and deep. She stroked his spittle slick cock with one hand and tried to unbutton his shirt with the other. Again, he moved her hand. 

“Fair play, even if you don’t want me fuck me. You see me, I see you. If not, no deal.” She let go of his dick. He grabbed her as she tried to stand up.

“It’s not… nice.” His wet fingers slid on her arm.

“You’re not an it. And you’re beautiful.”

He looked away, but his hand dropped. She unbuttoned him slowly, caressing down the smooth skin of his chest. A fading bruise from the fall bloomed yellowish purple on his ribcage. His nipples hardened in the chill. He was not just thin, but skinny. She could see his ribs with every breath, the exact wave of his sternum underneath his chest hair. Her gaze softened with tenderness. She got on her knees and licked his nipples warm. She kissed up his sternum until she felt his heartbeat through her lips, then up to his neck and behind his ear. He arched. He hadn’t allowed himself to be touched like that in over two years, and despite himself, his eyes welled up with the pleasure of it. She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him close. Her breasts were a firm pressure on his bare chest as she slid her tongue into his mouth. Her other hand moved again, a delicious stroke and twist that had him panting, but he didn’t want to finish like that.

“Make love to me,” he said into her mouth.

She pulled away. “Hmm?” Her hand still moved, albeit slower.

“Make love to me,” he said, stilling her. “Please.” His eyes were wet with emotion. She let the words sink in. She had asked him to do what she thought he wanted – to fuck her. But she was wrong.

She helped him take off his shoes and pants, then kissed up his thigh up to the hollow of his hip. He stood and pulled her to the bed, which was still neatly made. She ripped the covers off and pushed him and they fell together, kissing. He actually laughed, a deep, rich sound that warmed her all over. She straddled him and caressed his face.

“You’re gonna be okay?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“I want to. With every cell in my body, but I don’t want to hurt you. I know you take pills. I’ve seen them, in that little white blister pack.”

“These?” He grabbed a pack off the bedside table.

“Those.” She laced her fingers in his, with the blister pack pressed between their palms. She felt safer that way. She kissed him until his other hand turned to a fist in her hair. He thrust his hips under her and his cock slid on her lower belly and nudged her. His head fell back at her heat.

“Alright, darling. Promise you’ll tell me to stop if you hurt.” She bit his lower lip, letting the tip of his cock stretch her open. He nodded. It wasn’t enough. She swirled her hips on him and grabbed the back of his neck, her mouth hot on his ear. “Promise me.”

“Aye. I promise.”

With another twist of her hip he slid inside her. His hand trembled on her hip, guiding her. He started slow. She saw the sheen of sweat as it appeared on his body. It beaded on his hairline and his belly. It took a couple of seconds for her to adjust the sensation of being truly filled, not by finger or tongue or toy but by man. _This man,_ broken yet brave _._  The feeling swelled quickly and she surprised herself by coming, a sharp intake of breath then a trembling moan that made him throw the pills at the wall and sit up and thrust fast and deep into her, whimpering.

She tried to slow his rhythm but his fingers dug into her hips and he shook his head no and kept going until she lost the strength to fight him. Her pleasure rose smoothly from between her legs, lapped over her heart and rose to her brain. She was drowning in it. She didn’t perceive rhythm, just pressure and heat. She was in so deep her moans sounded far away to her. He buried his face in her neck, and as her orgasm subsided she felt pain.  He’d sunk his teeth into it.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Her voice was hoarse, trembly.

“For that…reaction, I suppose.”

“Shush your mouth. Did you come?” He was still rock hard inside her. He shook his head no. He smiled at her again, a sight she was learning to love. She moved on him and he gasped.

“Show me then, exactly how you want me.” He pulled her close to his chest and put his hands on her hips, starting a slow twist and thrust rhythm. She put her hand on his chest, over his heart. It made her feel safe although she knew it was silly, like trying to stop the tide with her palm.

“Look at me.” She knew the rhythm now, and moved his hand to her breast. His eyes were autumn embers and as she looked into him, she felt his growing excitement as her own. It was like they were locked in a closed circuit. She couldn’t hear herself moan but she heard the slightest hitch of his breath, felt his muscles twitch and tighten in warning. She put her palms against the headboard and rode him in a quickening rhythm. Her teeth were bared with pleasure, her mouth open and pressed against his.

“Come,” he said.

“No.” 

“Yes,” he said. He slapped her ass hard. She gasped in surprise, but didn’t lose her rhythm.

“No. Not until-” He held her hips down and started to pump into her again.

“Now.” He breathed into her, cherry sweet.

“I want. To see. Your eyes,” she panted between thrusts. She kissed him hard, his beard prickling on her face and against her tongue. He slapped her ass again then grabbed her hard enough to hurt. She put her arms underneath his to get a good grip on his shoulders and broke from his grip, grinding on him the way she knew he needed, lifting her hips and dancing on his cock and then letting it sink deep inside her again. She did it slow and watched him as his pupils dilated with the sensation. She had him and she loved it. Soon, he was whimpering softly into her mouth.

“Now, you come for me,” she whispered in his ear. She squeezed him until it ached and swirled her hips while he was as deep as he could get inside her. “Deep inside me. Make me wet. Don’t you want to fill me up?”

His hand moved down the sweat slick valley of her spine. She pulsated on top of him, improbably beautiful – too beautiful for him. His police brain buzzed despite his fast approaching orgasm.

**Maryn Lillita Ochoa, 33 years of age. Born 12 May, 1983 at Christiansted, St. Croix, United States Virgin Islands. Parents divorced, moved to London August 1988 by her mother, a language professor. Graduated from Exeter with top marks. Married Sean McTavish, now deceased.  
**

He had almost convinced himself that his background research on her was a formality. After all, she was a new resident, living alone in a cottage on top of a cliff very near where Daniel had been found.  When she’d shown up at the hotel to help, lovely and aching, his body has responded to the timbre of her pain, which was very much like his own. He had wanted her immediately, but he wasn’t the hookup type of man. Never had the wherewithal, honestly, but she was different. He felt it in the heat behind her smiles.

She kissed his attention back to her. “Spill over for me,” she said.

He rolled onto her. She tried to push him on his back but with a roll of his hips she stopped trying. He got a good grip on her shoulders and fucked her. Her thighs trembled against his sides and her fingers trailed pain down his back and this is what he needed, to be on top and fucking her until she curled into him and cried out like she was doing now but he wasn’t stopping no he would go faster knowing she had more in her, more passion more heat Lord she’s wet and tight now wet enough to soak his too clean sheets his too clean skin his too clean cock-

He bucked once, twice, three times between her legs as he came. She opened her eyes and saw him smiling through it. His pleasure was innocent and deep as a teenager’s, and it was beautiful to see. He pulsed hard, hard enough she felt it to her thighs, then collapsed on top of her, whimpering.

She kissed his temple and rubbed up and down his back. She missed this silent intimacy afterward. He rolled off her and pulled her into his arms. Their shared scent wafted up to his nostrils and he sighed happily.

“You smell green. Like woody stems or bruised flower leaves,” he said. He nuzzled, then kissed her forehead.

“You smell like burnt caramel. The kind my mum pours into porcelain ramekins when she makes flan. That, and sweat.”

“Flaaan.” he said it with an exaggerated nasal inflection. “What’s that?”

“Foreign word for caramel custard.”

“Mmmm. Custard. The bottom half of your face is red.”

“I wonder why that is, detective,” she said, tugging at his beard. They kissed for while, unhurried by need.

She broke away to look at him. “Why me, Alec? Did I look the type?”

“The type for what?”

“A one night stand.”

“Do _I_ look the type?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve heard all sorts of stories about cops.”

“Television isn’t real. Life doesn’t always imitate art. Not my life.” He scratched gently at her scalp, making her sigh. “I felt it. In the ambulance. Your kiss.”

“Oh yeah?”

“My eyes were closed, but I was conscious. You caressed me, kissed my forehead and then my hand.”

“I was worried.”

“You are kind.” He kissed her hand the way she had kissed his. “Well, do I? Look the type?”

“No.” She lay on his chest and kissed the place over his heart. “Not at all.” Her eyelids were heavy. She yawned and made to get up, but he hugged her closer.

“Stay with me.”

“There will be journalists here. They will see.”

He nuzzled her again and yawned. “Do you want to stay?” She nodded. She did, with all her heart. “Let them see then. Sod them all.”

They fell asleep still in each other’s arms, smiling.


End file.
